


Sugar Rush

by bonkatomicpunch



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Baking, Boots 'N Bombs, Cooking Shenanigans, Demo is the voice of reason in this relationship, Fluff, M/M, Rated T for language, Soldier is a himbo, They make a huge mess lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonkatomicpunch/pseuds/bonkatomicpunch
Summary: Demo and Soldier attempt to bake chocolate chip cookies to little success.





	Sugar Rush

**Author's Note:**

> i was SHOCKED to find out there's like, next to nothing for this ship despite it having a really solid foundation (i.e. WAR!) and they work super well together. here's some fluff

"Jane, no. Put the sprinkles _down,_ lad-"

_"Negatory!"_

Bloody hell, what a disaster.

Ripped open bags of sugar and flour sit nearly full atop the messy kitchen countertop of the RED base, their powdery white contents coating the wooden surface below and, in turn, creating an even bigger mess Demoman would surely have to clean up by himself later. A carton of whole milk accompanies the mess, as well as eggs, a container of vegetable oil and a long since cracked measuring cup that is not used particularly often.

Two mercenaries stand before the display, one clutching a rather oversized jar of rainbow sprinkles and the other pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. A bowl full of gelatinous, goopy dough with a couple chocolate chips scattered here and there sticks out like a sore thumb in the center of the room, the scent emanating off of it not particularly appetizing in the slightest.

They're in the middle of attempting to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies for, well, the hell of it, really. A favorite hobby of theirs is indulging in any and all irresponsible and possibly reckless impulses that come to mind. This was simply one of those impulses; Soldier had proposed the idea and Demo ran with it as per usual. Thankfully, he had already gone on a supply run beforehand to grab groceries since the base was running low on supplies anyway.

They had everything they would need to put their treats together to at least some success. His boyfriend was definitely an oddball (and even that is putting it lightly), but he loves him all the same. He needs someone to keep him grounded, and Demo likes to think he accomplishes that job pretty well. His antics are as endearing as they are destructive; not that he particularly minds much. Destruction's in his job description, after all.

Demo rubs his temples, letting out a half-chuckle half-sigh. "C'mon, dun' be like that, boyo. This recipe doesn't call fer sprinkles, remember?" He makes one more vain attempt to snatch the container from Soldier's hands, only to get an agitated grumble in response as he reels back. "'Sides, those are Pyro's anyway. Ye dun' wanna face their flamin' wrath now, do ye, luv?"

"Nonsense, private! These are our collective provisions!" Soldier booms, trying (and failing) to hide the specks of color collecting around his stubbly chin. "Besides, I gave Pyro one of my raccoons to play with in exchange for this. They won't be mad." He sticks a calloused, flour-coated hand inside the jar, retrieving some sprinkles and promptly shoveling them into his open maw. If Demo could roll his eye any harder, it'd recede into the back of his head.

"Suit yerself, laddie," he starts, brainstorming a way to get him to give it up already. Reverse psychology has historically worked very well on Soldier in the past, so he figures he might as well give it a go. "I dun' give a rat's arse aboot 'cher shite sprinkles anyhow. If it means more chocolate chips fer me, so be it." He nabs the disheveled half-empty bag of chocolate chips with a smirk, placing a hand inside it experimentally to see how Soldier will react.

Apparently, not well, if the sound of him opening the wooden cupboard door and hurriedly stashing the jar before closing it with a slam is any indication. Demo grabs a couple chocolate chips from the bag, tossing them Soldier's way just to see if he'd catch them like a dog; Sure enough, he lifts his helmet and opens his mouth, gulping them all down before giving his boyfriend a giddy thumbs up in response.

"Madlad, that's what you are," Demo laughs, affection evident in his voice. He does it again, and again, and again, his laughter growing more and more with each successful catch of the tiny little chocolates. Soldier is in the zone right now, backing up a bit in the already messy kitchen to add more of a challenge to the little game they were playing. Eventually he hits the back wall, miraculously still catching pieces with almost practiced ease. "Ach, ta hell with it," Demo says, placing down the bag on the counter and walking over to his oddly skilled boyfriend, lifting his familiar scratched-up helmet to kiss him. He's got sprinkles and chocolate smeared over his lips, but Demo honestly couldn't care less. A little chaos was just fine every now and then. Especially if said chaos was a result of his favorite patriot.

Soldier's surprised at first, but proceeds to melt into it and smile widely behind Demo's lips. "That's an interesting combat strategy," he manages, red creeping onto his cheeks. "Nevertheless, I _won't_ be defeated!" He kisses him back with a vengeance, getting sprinkles in his beard as he grips his boyfriend's curly hair with one sticky hand. They'd both need to shower later, most definitely, but they were too occupied by each other's company and the silliness of their situation to care too much right now. Demo embraces his boyfriend as he's smushed against the wall, his thick arms draped around his back and no doubt getting powder on his clothes.

"Yer a right shite cook," Demo quips with a smirk, nuzzling his forehead with Soldier's affectionately beneath his hat. "But I love ya anyways."

Soldier guffaws at that, tightening his grip on his beloved Scotsman's back. "Nonsense, I'm an amazing cook! Last time I made cookies, Merasmus loved them so much he passed out at the mere_ taste _of them!"

"No, Jane. Ya put windae cleaner in th' bowl by mistake last time."

"Close enough!"

Demo lets out a hearty sneeze, and snaps them out of their little impromptu cuddling session. _Oh, right. The cookies._

Soldier's helmet clunks against his face as he wipes the sprinkles from his mouth. "Right, my bad, soldier. Our current objective is to finish these cookies!" He grabs the bowl in a hurry, dashing over to the old oven that certainly hasn't gotten too much use in recent years. Most of his colleagues preferred to cook their meals on the stovetop, so it's gone neglected for a good while.

"Wait, boyo!" Demo raises his voice. "We gotta stir it first! Dun' ye want yer cookies ta be nice 'n soft?" He smiles warmly at his clueless boyfriend. "Like yerself."

Soldier thinks it over for a moment, earnest compliment flying right over his head, hand still placed firmly on the oven's handle. "Hmm...Good point," he says, releasing it from his grasp and reaching over to grab an unattended whisk from the counter. He places the bowl back on the counter a bit too roughly, a loud scraping noise following suit. "I'm gonna stir the everloving_ crap_ outta this batter, just you watch!" He bellows, laughing damn near maniacally as he whips the doughy substance with all of his might, sending bits of chunky mush flying everywhere. Demo stares at him in awe and horror, impressed at his strength yet peeved at the fact he's scattering more slop for him to clean up later. "Tavish, are you looking? I don't see you_ looking,_ private!"

"I'm lookin, Janey," he says warmly, leaning against the splintered kitchen wallpaper with his arms crossed. Not in protest, but in entertainment; He wasn't particularly happy about the mess, of course not, but he can't resist the urge to smile whenever his boyfriend is causing trouble. Soldier continues to beat the devil out of the cookie batter until it's nothing but a mushy, liquefied puddle. _Eesh,_ Demo thinks. The cookies will probably taste terrible, but hey, it's more about the journey than the destination, right?

Soldier smiles at his handiwork; his arm is too tired at the moment to stir it any further, and he seems content with his progress. Again, he trots back over to the oven, opening it and placing the bowl of thoroughly stirred liquid inside. "Wait!" Demo interrupts again, "Yer supposed ta, ah...Put 'em on a _tray,_ dearest." His favorite patriot lets out an impatient groan, pulling open a lower cupboard door and dragging out a thoroughly rusted over metal cooking tray. Gross, but it'll work for now. He attempts to administer the nasty cookie liquid evenly, but it has so little mass the individual spots he's poured start bleeding into one another. It doesn't seem to faze him, though, tossing the tray into the oven one final time and cranking the dials on it until he's satisfied.

"There," he says frankly, wiping his hands free of the sticky white powder coating them onto his shirt. "All in a day's work."

Demo suddenly makes a realization. _Oh no._ "Luv," he starts, "Ye did remember ta...Ye know...Preheat th' oven before we went an' started this little experiment, right?"

"What? _'Pre-heat'_ the oven? Pshh. Tavish, I think you inhaled too much flour. It's messing with your brain."

Demo's palm connects swiftly with his face, dragging itself downward in frustration. "Jane...Good God, lad, what on Earth am I gunnae do with ya..." Soldier doesn't seem to notice his agitation, waving goodbye before promptly exiting the kitchen in his typical jovial manner without so much as a second thought.

_Yeesh._ What _is_ he going to do with him, anyway?

* * *

Demo's just about finished cleaning up the filthy kitchen, the disgusting scent of burnt dough clouding up his nostrils and making him gag a little. He opens the oven door only to bare witness to what can only be called an unholy amalgamation of milk, eggs, sugar and way, _way_ too much flour. All of the mixture bled together in the oven to create one gigantic beast of a "cookie" that smelled absolutely _rancid_. Without hesitation, Demo immediately chucks the entire damn thing, praying it won't stink up the garbage can for the next week or so. _Awh, damn it all,_ he thinks. _What the hell am I gonna tell Jane?_

Suddenly, he remembers something.

He had actually _bought_ cookies during the aforementioned supply run; Heavy and Scout were big fans of those types of sweets, so he figured it'd boost their morale if they had something to snack on around the base. He rifles through the crowded cupboards in a hurry, eventually finding a brand new box of chocolate chip cookies, untouched. _Bingo. _He pours the entirety of the contents in the box onto a plate, not-so-discreetly placing the empty container in the trash. He pours two glasses of milk (thankfully he remembered to pick up a few extra cartons since it tended to go quick) and calls Soldier's name, the bumbling American entering the kitchen and bumping his head on the doorframe before taking a seat at the table. Demo sets down the plate and hands his boyfriend his milk, a nervous smile plastered on his features. Soldier grabs a cookie and inspects it skeptically, sweat pouring down Demo's temple in rivers. He'd most definitely be angry if he knew he threw their creation away, but the damn thing was a biohazard; He didn't really have a choice. He takes an experimental bite, facial expression unreadable. After some deliberation, he opens his still-full mouth to speak.

"Wow, private, these are great! _That's_ some all-American cuisine, right there. I couldn't have done it without you," Soldier says happily, mouth still full of cookie due to his reluctance to chew. "Thanks for helping me make these, soldier." Demo, likewise, takes a seat to munch on some cookies himself, eyeing the discarded packaging of name-brand cookies sitting idly in the trash bin behind him. _No, he won't notice,_ he thinks, planting a quick peck to his clueless boyfriend's cheek.

Demo smiles, washing down his treat with a swig of whole milk. "Dun' mention it, luv." Soldier wraps an arm around his favorite Scotsman, dunking his own cookie in Demo's milk (he's gross like that).

"I love you so much, Tavish."

"I love ya too, Jane."


End file.
